


The Edge of Insanity: Patrick Hockstetter

by Snow_Cr0w



Category: Hockstetter/OC, IT - Stephen King, Patrick Hockstetter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Cr0w/pseuds/Snow_Cr0w
Summary: Based on IT (2017). Kind of a love story, if you squint. Patrick x OC. Explores insanity, psychopathy, and the things between them. Cleo thinks she's a psychopath, until she meets Patrick Hockstetter on her first day at school in Derry. She is a strong albeit impulsive and frustrating character. Nobody knows this more than her...except maybe Patrick. After being expelled again, Cleo is trying to be good. It's killing her, and the clown she has been seeing must be in her head. Fighting her impulses is driving her crazy. Warning for violence, sex, and strong language
Relationships: patrick hockstetter/oc
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26





	1. Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic. I hate when female characters are impossibly likable, so I may have gone overboard in making Cleo unlikable, hopefully not. I made a few changes to the story: everyone is a little older, so the Bower's Gang are all around 16-17 Juniors and the Losers Club are all 14 year old Freshmen. I may condense some of the events going forward. Hope you like it :)

_“_ _It's fun to lose and to pretend_

_She's over-bored and self-assured_

_Oh no, I know a dirty word…”_

  * _Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana_



**Chapter 1**

I really do try to be good. I thought it was a phase at first, and my parents never cared enough to notice. The older I get the more I realize that this darkness inside me is not going away. It is part of who I am. Maybe all that I really I am. I feel other things, but what if those are the phase? These things usually weigh on my mind, but right now I am preoccupied with something else. As I walk, my eyes tracing the telephone wires above my head, I am thinking about my new school. My new, new school; it is the second one I have been to this year. Last year was another two, and my record is four. Starting high school is hard enough, having to do it over and over again makes me want to scream. I am in 11th grade, and I will say for all the self esteem issues I have had in the past, I am growing into myself. I am tall but not enormous. My face is thin with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. My nose is a little uneven but small. I am not fat but not really skinny either, since I have hips and boobs. Those are new. They seem to have grown in almost overnight, and they are fantastic if I do say so myself. I have already realized that I can use them to my advantage in more ways than one. I glance down at my chest now, heavy and still foreign, placing my hands on my hips and smoothing out my skirt as I do. As I approach the parking lot of the school, I run a hand through my hair. Kids are already looking at me with puzzled faces. When I notice this, I straighten up, harden my expression, and walk with purpose. The good thing about starting a new school is you can be anybody you want. I have decided to be as good as I can be. My past does not matter anymore. Still, as I walk up to the school, I swing my hips a little, smiling to myself. I cannot be _too_ good. 

All of the sudden something pulls my shoulder back and I turn toward it. My heart speeds up for a minute and the thoughts of being good are replaced with urges that I try not to dwell on. These are immediately squashed when I see who grabbed me. I frown at the girl in disappointment. She isn’t much, average with too much makeup and not enough people who care about it. Nothing to get worked up about.

“Are you a new kid?” she barks.

I stare at her. She doesn’t wait for an answer.

“You a junior? So am I. You can walk with me if you want.”

I go with her, without having said anything back. 

“You’re probably gonna get written up for that skirt”, she says as we walk into the building.

I look down at my skater skirt. It suddenly felt very short. I pulled my baggy AC/DC t shirt out of the waist and let it hang over it. It nearly covered the whole thing. 

_Great._

“I’m Greta, by the way she says”, she stops chewing her gum and looks at me, “I didn’t catch your name.”

_Well you wouldn’t would you?_

“Cleo”, I say. 

She nods and we continue down the hall. She’s talking about the kids we pass. I only really half listen as most of them dodge her. 

_You’re a bully, aren’t you Greta?_

“That’s Henry Bowers”, she says shifting her eyes toward a group of boys standing by some lockers. The way she said his name makes me think he is also an asshole. It isn’t clear which one is Henry.

“Hi boys!” 

_Jesus Christ._

They turn to look at her and then me. Their expressions change when they see me. I am not sure how to describe it.

_Interested, maybe._

They look at each other and then back at me. Greta did not stop walking, so now they are trailing behind us. 

I am happy when Greta says something and then leaves. My head already hurts. I walk into my first class and sit down in the back. I sling my backpack onto the floor and start scribbling in one of my notebooks. Before I can stop it, my pen etches out a name I don’t like to look at, and my head falls back into last year. He wasn’t much of anything, he could have fallen on accident. California is dry; the fire could have started by itself.

_He did. It did._

I knew even as I told myself that neither were true.

_You pushed him. You started it._

My hand twitches as ink curves around the letters again.

_You liked it._

I slam my notebook shut and run my hand through my hair. I finally look up from the desk. It’s early. Nobody else is in the room. I am considering bailing when the group of boys from before come walking in. There is something sinister about them. I ignore my interest in it and harden my expression again.

“Hey, you’re new.”

It wasn’t a question. I look at him and his friends. All of them look like they expect me to shrivel up. I look at one of the boys standing behind the one talking.

_He’s kind of cute._

He’s tall, really tall for a Junior. He stands with his head tilted slightly to one side and his shoulders slouched, like he may fall over. His long black hair is shaggy but clean, unlike the other three who seem to have enough grease in theirs to unjam an engine. His lanky frame fits his height, and while he’s skinny he doesn’t seem weak. Quite the opposite. There is an intensity in his eyes that I don’t realize I am staring at until I see him smile at me. I blink and look at the one in front.

“You’re Henry” I say flatly. 

“You’ve heard of me?” he smiles.

“Only from Greta.” This makes him frown.

“What’s your name?” 

I look back at the tall black-haired boy now. He purred the words in a way that made the hair on my neck stand up. A small smile sitting on his face; his eyes darting around mine like it was a map he could read.

“Cleo.”

“Cleo”, he says slowly, like it’s a new food he’s trying to figure out if he likes. 

“You come to school with no pants on a lot, Cleo?” Henry asks, smiling.

We collectively glance down at my pitiful outfit. Sitting down, my baggy shirt completely hides my short skirt, making it look like I did in fact show up to school with no pants on, for my first day no less.

_Off to a good start._

“Only on Tuesdays”, I smile at him.

This makes them laugh. My eyes dart back to the tall boy. He’s grinning now. His smile makes me crack a genuine one. It’s cute, almost too big for his face and cocked sideways. 

I am still looking at him when the bell rings, nodding along to Henry who is talking about something I am not listening to. The boy’s blue eyes do not leave my face. Normally this would make feel uneasy, like someone was reading my mind. This feels different though. Like maybe he’s reading my mind and he’s not afraid of it. 

_Shit. What’s his deal? What’s_ my _deal? You’ve been here for less than an hour. Chill the fuck out._

“Sit down, sit down!” 

Henry and the fat boy leave. The blonde one and my staring buddy find seats next to me. 

“We have a new student today, class.”

_Shit._

The teacher looks at me and beckons me up to the front. I roll my eyes, but stand, tuck in my shirt, and walk up. There are some snickers from the girls and some whistles from the guys. The teacher frowns at my legs and shakes his head. 

“Cleo, right?” he asks annoyed.

“That’s me.” 

“That skirt is _not_ school appropriate.” More laughing from the class.

“Does that mean I can leave?” I ask..

Laughter erupts. 

_Wasn’t even funny. This is gonna be easy._

I turn and face the class after the teacher gestures to do so, shaking his head again. 

“This is Cleo Madsen”, he says. 

“Hi, Cleo”, the class chants.

“Tell us about yourself,'' he says with fake enthusiasm. 

_You’re trying to be good, Cleo._

“I’m 16. I moved to Derry last week. I am _super excited to be here_ \--” 

That gets a couple grunts and snorts.

“-- I like long walks on the beach, and am looking for someone who understands me and likes me for me” I say in a valley girl voice that Greta would be proud of. More laughter.

_Maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just be sarcastic about everything and people will just think I’m joking all the time. That’s not bad; it’s not being good exactly, but it’s a start._

“Ok enough. Let’s get this over with”

Everyone begins introducing themselves. I tried to listen to all of them. I tried to convince myself I cared about all of the names being rattled off to me. Then I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care about any of the names. Neither worked because I know I am waiting to hear one. 

He is sitting perched up in his chair, slender shoulders rounded forward, elbows on his desk, his eyes burning a hole in me. I meet them again, when it's his turn. I stare him down, which makes the intensity I saw earlier flare up behind his eyes. 

“Patrick Hockstetter”, he says, his voice deep and a small smirk on his face. 

_Patrick. Paatttrrriiiccck. Don’t do it._

“Patrick”, I repeat slowly, the way he tasted my name earlier. His eyes widen a little and his smile grows.

It seems to throw everyone off so much that the next kid doesn’t go. It’s quiet for a second and I finally break eye contact with Patrick. I realize in that moment his is the only name I responded to. I should probably feel embarrassed, but I really don’t. The roll call moves on and eventually I get to go sit back down. The teacher begins his boring lesson and I tune it out. I open my notebook again to make it seem like I am listening. I feel him staring at me. 

“You like long walks on the beach?” 

I look up, and smirk at Patrick.

“Totally, don’t you?”, I whisper back.

“I would with you.”

_Oh boy._

“Cute”, I say sarcastically, but grin at him. 

“We don’t have a beach in Derry, but we could take a walk anyway.” His eyes are a little different now. Almost nervous, but when I look at them again, they are calm.

“After school.” I say, turning my attention ahead. Suddenly trying to focus on the droning of the teacher. 

He smiles and nods with mock seriousness, “Of course.”


	2. The Stranger

_"You may never understand_   
_How the stranger is inspired_   
_But he isn't always evil_   
_And he is not always wrong_   
_Though you drown in good intentions_   
_You will never quench the fire_   
_You'll give in to your desire_   
_When the stranger comes along"_

_-_ _The Stranger, Billy Joel_

**Chapter 2**

The rest of my morning goes by pretty smoothly. I am mad at myself for letting Patrick get to me that quickly. What can I say? I have a type. Or maybe I don’t. I don’t know. I do know that no one has ever looked at me like that. I get so bored being good, that is why I struggled with it so much in the past. 

I round a corner and hear screaming from the girls bathroom. 

_That doesn’t sound good._

I push the door open to find Greta screaming at a closed bathroom stall. She glares in my direction, but then smirks in recognition. 

“Oh hey Cleo.”

I say nothing but walk in. She continues as if I asked her what she was doing.

“We’re just having some fun with the school slut,” she says laughing.

The other girls laugh to. I look at the stall.

“She’s a slut?” I say, barely interested.

“Totally! She’s pretty much let every guy in school down her pants”, Greta spits in the direction at the bathroom stall.

“Bowers too?”

She looks at me with a funny expression, almost like she wants to hit me. She seems to think better of it. I try not to be disappointed.

“Henry wouldn’t go for her,'' she says, all of the fight in her voice gone for a moment.

“Seems like the type to go for just about anything,” I say, smirking a little and meeting her eyes with a taunting glare. 

_Cleo, stop. It’s your first day. This is not a good plan._

“Especially with you”, I say, pouring friendliness into my voice.

She smiles, all the doubt replaced with pride. 

“Oh you noticed that he digs me, huh?”

_I’m gonna puke._

“Yeah, totally”, I say in the same valley girl voice she used before.

I hear a quiet snicker from the stall. Greta’s gaze shoots back to her target.

“I’m taking a walk with Patrick later,'' I say suddenly, not really knowing why, “maybe you and Henry can join?” 

She looks back at me. “Patrick Hockstetter?” 

It’s suddenly quiet in the bathroom. I nod, ignoring her shocked expression.

“He’s kind of...weird, Cleo”, she says as if recalling something far away in her head, “you should--” 

“I like weird,” I say, “besides it’s just a walk.”

She nods, and returns to her normal irritating self. “We’ll meet on the steps after school then?”

I nod and try not to gag as she smacks her gum. Content, she walks past me and kicks the bathroom stall hard. 

“Catch you later, slut!”

All the girls file out of the bathroom behind her. I breathe a sigh of relief.

_Fuck me. I don’t think I can keep this up._

I pull my Pall Malls out of my skirt pocket and light one. As I draw on my cig, leaning against the tile wall of the bathroom, the stall door slowly opens. A girl walks out. She is pretty, with long red hair and a mousey face. She is shorter than me and has big blue eyes, the kind that always look sad. 

_Like his. Just like his were._

I shake my head and look at her, taking a drag without breaking eye contact.

“Thanks”, she says quietly.

“For what?” I am genuinely curious. It does not occur to me that I did anything for her.

“For making her go away,” she says, her voice louder this time.

I shrug. “Girls like Greta are easy once you know what bothers them.” 

She gives me a look, like that never occurred to her. She pulls out a cigarette, and I offer her my lighter.

She nods in thanks, and we stand there in silence, watching the smoke waft out the high window of the bathroom. 

“Are you new?” She finally asks. 

I nod. “First day,” I say blankly. 

“Greta is friends with you? Usually she picks on the new kids.”

I huff, blowing smoke through my nose. “I’d love to see her try.” I sneer the words, and then catch myself. “I think I give off a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe”, I say shrugging again, “I’m not very friendly.”

Her eyes brighten, “you are to me.”

I smile, genuinely. I feel something that is close to pity for her. 

_She would make a great excuse to beat the shit out of Gret--_

“You’re a junior?”

I nod.

“I’m a freshman.”

“No shit,” I laugh without meaning to sound as mean as I do. “I just meant you look younger than a junior”, I say when I see her face. 

“I know,” she sighs, “I wish I looked like you.”

“No you don’t,” I say, the smile gone from my voice and face. “You think it’s bad that Greta calls you a slut now, wait until you get boobs.”

She laughs. It’s a sad laugh, one that makes the feeling of pity grow. I put my cig out on the floor and adjust my backpack.

“Greta _is_ right about Hockstetter,” she says suddenly.

I look at her. “What’s wrong with him?”

She looks at the floor, “I don’t know exactly,” she pauses, “Henry, Belch, and Vic are mean, but he’s different. He’s...more vicious...than the others.”

_That’s vague. A rottweiler can be vicious, so is a gun if you’re looking at the barrel of it. What does she mean?_

“I gotta split,” I say suddenly uncomfortable, “but I’ll see you around?”

She smiles again, probably noticing my discomfort, and nods. 

“Thanks again.”

I don’t answer and head out the door. 

...

After the final bell, I walk toward the front of the school, the hallway is strangely empty for this time. I stop when I see it at the end of the hall. I squint hard at it, trying to decide what it is. 

_No...that is definitely a clown._

I take a few steps toward it. It’s so still, standing in the dark window of the chemistry lab. It almost looks like a cardboard cutout someone leaned against the glass. 

_“You can’t hide it forever, Cleo!”_

I fall back a little at the sing-songy voice. It’s echo-y and I can’t tell if it’s in my head or not.

_“They’ll find out just like aaall the others. You’re bad. You like to hurt people!”_

I shake my head and glare at the clown. “Stop,” I say to myself.

_“Nothing scares you, Cleo. You’re so new, so different from the rest. You’re like me. Hungry, always hungry! We could have fun, you and me, down here…”_

“No” I say at the clown, louder this time. 

_You could hurt so many here. Greta, Henry, and the little girl with the big sad eyes. Eyes just like--_

“Fuck you!” I shout at the clown, then drop my gaze. Anger surges in me and I clench my fists. I look up and the clown is gone. 

_I’m insane. I am actually fucking crazy._

I walk the rest of the way with my head down. I nearly run over Patrick.

“Hey stranger”, he says, catching my arms as I walk into his chest. 

I look up at his smirking face. His intense eyes fixed on me. I back up and run a hand through my hair, trying to forget the psychotic episode I just had.

“Hey,” I say. 

His hands are still clenched around my arms. They’re warm. 

“You’re cold”, he says, his smile gone, “I thought I heard you yell, is someone--”

“No”, I say sharply. I shake my head and soften my tone, “No, I’m just feeling...weird.”

“I always feel weird.”

There is a seriousness in his voice, but his eyes are soft, like he understands. 

_How could he? Does he hallucinate clowns too?_

“Me too”, I say, almost to myself.

“I know,” he says, “I can tell--”

“There you are!”

I’m still looking into his eyes when Greta’s shrill voice breaks our eye contact.

“Great”, I say. 

She doesn’t hear me, but Patrick does. 

“What does she want?” Patrick asks.

Greta answers him as she walks up to us. Henry, Belch, and Vic round the corner and greet Patrick. I suddenly feel claustrophobic like I want to run.

“Cleo said we are going for a walk,” she smiles at Henry.

He frowns at her. “Not a chance, spaz.”

I almost smile. Henry seems to be a lot of things, but a doormat he is not. 

“Me and Cleo are,” Patrick says glaring at Greta.

Then Henry turns to him, ignoring Greta’s hurt expression.

“Nah”, he says, “we got plans Hockstetter. You bring your flamethrower?”

“His what now?” I say. 

“It’s not really a flamethrower,” Patrick says quietly. 

It’s the first time I’ve seen him look anything but intense. He looks embarrassed. I don’t like it, which annoys me.

“Let me guess,” I say with a grin, “hairspray and a lighter?”

His face lights up and his sideways smile is back. The intensity behind his eyes is too. I try to tell myself I didn’t miss it, that I enjoyed seeing him sad and ashamed. 

_I do with everyone else. What makes him so special?_

“You can make kissy faces later,” Henry says, winking at me, “c’mon. My dad’ll kill me if I’m late again, and we got shit to do.”

Patrick looks at me. 

“Raincheck,” I say, “that shit sounds important,” I add with mock seriousness, while looking at Henry and rolling my eyes.

“I knew you’d get it, toots,” he says. 

They turn and start walking out of the school. Patrick lingers, and I feel his hand on my arm again. 

“Tonight?” he says quietly. 

“If you can find me,” I say, not meaning to sound as playful as it did.

_Not a good plan._

_I never have a good plan._

He squeezes my arm and smiles wider. 

“I like you”, he whispers. It’s a different quiet than before. No shame but burning, like an ember in one of my smokes.

“Here, 9?” 

He nods, and follows Henry out the door. He turns and walks backward, smirking at me. I stare him down again, smiling softly. Then he’s gone and I feel tired all at once.

“You wanna--”

“No,” I say flatly, remembering Greta lurking behind me. 

I walk out the door, my patience for people gone and sleepiness setting in quickly. I am still trying to be good. I am trying so hard. 

_Maybe that’s why I’m losing my mind?_

I walk home and lay down in bed. My parents are either not home or passed out in their room. 

_“Tonight?”_

I smile.

“ _You like to hurt people!”_

I cringe. “Fucking clown,” I mutter.

_“I like you.”_

Patrick’s words ring in my ears. Even if I know I shouldn’t, I like him too. I like being liked by someone. It’s been awhile. My brain starts to slip back in time again. I shut my eyes.

“ _I like you.”_

I replay it until I fall asleep with the sun setting outside.


	3. My Beloved Monster

_"My beloved monster and me_  
_We go everywhere together_  
_Wearing a raincoat that has four sleeves_  
_Gets us through all kinds of weather..."_

_\- My Beloved Monster, Eels_

**Chapter 3**

Derry looks different at night. The shadows are heavy, almost as if they have real weight. They are like living, breathing things. The clown looked so paper-thin against that window, but the heaviness was still there. It made me cold. I don’t think about it as I walk toward the school. All I can think about is Patrick. I take a drag on my cig and look at my feet.

_ Don’t be stupid. Don’t get carried away. _

I nod to myself as if that would make the task easier. I stop. It’s quiet then. 

_ You’re losing it, Cleo...no...but there is something. Where is it coming from? _

I realize the answer halfway through the thought, and I squat down in front of the damp sewer drain at the edge of the sidewalk. I hold the cigarette in my mouth and squint into the dark void of the sewer. 

“Hello”, the clown says. I frown at the yellow eyes. 

_ Seriously, fuck this guy. _

“What?” I say, hating myself for talking to a sewer, “What do you want?”

“You,” It says, It’s voice is light and airy, but It’s eyes are hungry. 

“Are you gonna eat me?” I ask, in a taunting voice, pulling my smoke out of my mouth.

“Does that frighten you?”

“What do you think?” 

It smiles. “Oh, you are my absolute favorite! The things we could do together, down here.”

“Are you some pervert in a costume, or am I insane?” 

“What do you think?”

I smile at It’s wittiness. “Definitely insane,” I sigh. 

It laughs. “You’re different. Insane or not, you are special.”

The last part is almost a growl. It’s intensity is not the same as Patrick’s. It doesn’t want me the same way. It doesn’t like me. It wants me for something.

_ For what? _

“I’ve gotta be somewhere,” I say flatly. 

“I know”, It laughs, “Patrrrick is waiting. He likes you. He’s like you. But he’s not the same, not quite, oh no you are special.”

“So you’ve said,” I say pouring the irritation I feel into my voice, “I suppose I’ll see you around then?”

It just laughs as I flick my smoke toward the sewer and step back onto the sidewalk. I continue toward the school, now more cognizant of being watched by the shadows. The clown  _ is _ right. I am different. I may not have the best knowledge of people, but I know that most people would be filled with terror at the sight of a killer clown in a storm drain, or at the very least wary of one. I was just overwhelmingly annoyed. 

_ It has to be my head fucking with me, right? How can It know what we said? How can it know how I feel? It has to be in my head.  _

I stand on the grass in front of the school steps, looking up at the tall, dark building. I jump but laugh at the warm hands around my arms.

“Did I scare you?” Patrick whispers.

“You wish.”

I turn to face him and we smile at each other. 

“Still feeling weird?” he asks.

“Usually am”, I shrug.

He laughs and takes my hand, pulling me down the hill away from the school.

“So what’s your deal?”

I think about the question. 

“I don’t really have one,” I say.

“Not true,” he smiles, “you start school at the end of the year, no one knows where you came from, and you’re…” he trails off, “you’re--”

“Different?” I ask, the clown’s laughter faintly ringing in my head.

“Yeah”, he stops, “but not in a bad way...at least not to me.”

“I get bored,” I say shrugging, “so bored that I feel like I could drown in it. People just make it worse, usually. I try hard to be good, but it’s just...so fucking boring”, I sigh.

He nods, “I know what you mean.”

I look at him as we walk on. 

“How? What’s your deal?”

“I’m an asshole.”

I laugh, taken aback by his genuineness. 

“I am!” He laughs. “I’ll admit it. I use people. I tolerate them too, but only barely. Like you said, being good is boring. It’s mind-numbing honestly.”

“So are you tolerating me then?” I ask.

He pauses and shakes his head, his shaggy black hair swooshing around his slim face.

“No”, he says matter of factly, “that’s why I know you’re different from everyone else. You’re the first person I’ve ever met that I am really into. You’re real.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know,” he agrees, “but I just feel it. I felt it as soon as you looked at me. You saw this thing in me, this thing that makes me real, and you weren’t afraid.”

“I wasn’t”, I say.

“You like it,” he says, looking ahead up the road.

I nod, “I have it too.”

“I know,” he says again, “like I said, I see it... but you’re hiding it, like around Greta. You hate her. You want to hurt her. It practically radiates off you,” he pauses when I frown, “I always feel like that too, especially at that place with those people.”

I stop and so does he. I pull out another cigarette, and he flicks open his lighter for me. I light it while meeting his gaze. That feeling is back, the feeling I got walking here with the shadows watching. Except this time I know it’s Patrick, his eyes burning into me, his words mirroring my own in my head. He knows me. I mean he barely knows me, but he really knows what I am. 

“How do you know me?” I say, suspicion creeping into my voice.

“Because we’re the same,” he says smiling. He leans down and whispers into my ear, “we’re both bad.” 

“Do you want to hurt me?” I whisper back.

This makes him lean back up and meet my eyes. Then he smiles.

“Do you want me to?”

“I like to hurt. It’s easy. It’s exhilarating,” I pause, “but it’s not all I like. I like softness too...sometimes.”

He breaths in as I place my hand on his chest. “I get that,” his deep voice is sincere.

His warm hand cups my face, his slender fingers stroking my cheek. 

_ Fuck. I want it. I want him so bad.  _

He leans down and kisses me. I feel him bite my bottom lip.

_ “We’re both bad.” “You can’t hide it forever, Cleo!” _

I break away, catching my breath. My heart is beating out of my chest. I suddenly feel so hot. I want to kiss him again, but the clown rings in my head.

“What?”

I am about to tell him about It, when something moves in the darkness from the way we came, I glare past him.

_ If it’s that fucking clown... _

“There's someone following us,” I say.

_ If he knows me as well as he seems to, he must already know I’m crazy and delusional, right? Maybe he can help me get rid of this fucker.  _

Patrick turns around and looks where I am looking. I see it again, movement on the dark street. 

“Who is it?” he asks me.

As he asks I catch a glimpse of bright pink and a blonde ponytail. I realize who it is, and I roll my eyes.

“It’s Greta”, I say, almost more annoyed than if it had been my clown stalker.

He snorts. “What the fuck?”

“Hey!” I shout at her. She ducks down, but now that I know it’s her, I can really see her. 

She’s crouching down by the curb. I find myself hoping the clown is real enough to snatch her leg and drag her down into the shit-infested waters below. 

“Greta”, I say, “if you’re going to play spy, maybe bubblegum leg warmers are not the best choice?” 

Patrick smirks. Seemingly giving up the facade, she stands up and walks over. Her face is red and her eyes are darting, as if looking for any reason to give for spying on us in the middle of the night. 

“Oh hey,” she says.

The casual but shrill tone of her voice and her big, panicked eyes make me laugh. It’s a mean laugh. A real one. I forget to try. Kissing Patrick made me feel too many new things, and my self control is gone for a minute. 

“Why the fuck are you following us?” Patrick asks, flicking his lighter open and shut.

She doesn’t answer, but she looks down at her shoes. 

_ This girl was created to annoy me. It’s the sole reason for existence. It has to be because she is so goddamn good at it.  _

I glare at her, flicking my cigarette at her feet. She doesn’t laugh like the clown did, she just stares at me. __

“You called him weird,” I say gesturing to Patrick, “You called that girl a slut,” I laugh again, “but you’re so desperate that you follow two people around and watch them mack on each other? Seems like you’ve got your own issues, Greta,” I smirk.

She glances at Patrick, like she’s afraid of him. Then she glares at me. “I was nice to you.”

“I don’t need you to be nice to me,” I say. 

Patrick takes my hand, a smile slipping onto his face. 

_ Now I can feel what he meant. We match, our intensities match.  _

_ Be good, Cleo. _

“Fine then,” Greta says, “I can make your life suck if that’s what you want.”

“Give it your best shot”, I spit. 

“Your fucked up boyfriend is going to protect you?” she mocks, glancing at Patrick again.

“You don’t know me, Greta,” I say, “I don’t need protecting...but you might.”

I feel Patrick squeeze my hand. Greta’s face is hard to read. She looks worried, possibly more because of Patrick than me. 

“Whatever,” she mutters, turning on her heel and walking quickly away down the street. 

As soon as she’s out of sight, Patrick pulls me into him with such force that my elbow pops. I shake my head.

“I told my parents I would be good,” I say, looking at his chest. The white of his undershirt is almost glowing in the dark. I stare at it, continuing, “I made it through one day at school, and I already have an enemy.”

“Fuck her”, he says, pressing against me.

I smile, looking at him sideways. 

_ He’s hard. _

“You wanna fuck her?”

He laughs, shaking his head, his hair dancing around his slim face. 

“Nah,” he says, “I wanna fuck you.” 

_ Goddammit, this boy. _

I smirk. “Hold on a minute,” I say, pulling away from him a little, “we aren’t gonna fuck in the middle of the street--” 

He laughs, “Why not?”

“--besides, I really don’t know you  _ that _ well yet.”

He nods, putting his hands up in surrender. “Ok, fair enough...I’m patient.”

We keep walking until we get to a bridge. He leads me down the sloping hill, away from the road. Ahead I can see a small path, trees lining it in every direction, and the glistening water that is moving at a lazy pace under the bridge and out of sight. 

“Are you gonna murder me and dump my body?”

“Is that the vibe I give off?” he asks innocently.

“I mean yeah, a little,” I laugh, “but you better make sure I’m dead, or you’re in for a rough night.”

He looks at me, his intense eyes shining in the moonlight. 

“I am really glad I met you.”

I am silent for a minute, not really knowing what to say without sounding stupid.

“Me too”, I say quietly, smiling at him. 

I feel weird, almost weak; I’ve never felt that way before.

_ I like him a lot.  _ But I don’t like feeling how I do now. 

_ It’s too vulnerable.  _

“Hey,'' I say, trying to change the subject, “where the hell is everybody?”

He looks confused.

“I mean, I get it’s kinda late, but we literally didn’t see anyone else...except Gretta”, I say, “and she was  _ trying _ to follow us. Aren’t there any bars in this town? Or like hangouts that the people from school have?”

“It’s because of the curfew,” he says, “c’mon.”

We sit down on the bank of the river. He was right, it’s no beach. We are sitting on a small, pebbly bank filled with larger rocks. The small creek, if you could call it that, is not very wide at all. I look up at the moon and then down at my dirty black Flyers, kicking a rock.

“What curfew?”

“Kids have been going missing,” he continues, “been a few months now and none of them have turned up, so the cops made a 7 o’clock curfew for anyone under 18,” he pauses and shrugs, “I don’t know why adults aren’t around...they never really are.”

“Huh”, I say, nodding, “and what happens if we get caught?”

He shrugs and laughs, “you worried?”

“Not really”, I pause, “but like I said--”

“You’re trying to be good,” he finishes. 

I nod. “I hate it.”

“Then stop”

“And do what? Act on every urge I have? End up in prison? Fitting in here is boring, imagine how fucking boring solitary confinement gets.” 

“True”

“Plus,” I say, smiling at him, “you’re one to talk. You follow Henry around, even though I get the feeling you don’t exactly like being told what to do.”

“Also true,” he laughs. “He’s a means to an end. Henry’s fucked up in his own way. His dad beats the living shit out of him. He takes the lead, easier for me to get out of the blame, and I still get to have some fun. Besides, that point about prison...well it’s a good point.” 

“You think I should use Greta as a means to an end?”

He cocks his head, weighing it over and then nods. “Maybe. She’s scared of you. You could use that.”

I nod too. “Sometimes I think it would be easier if I was like her. It would definitely be less exhausting.”

He looks at me, and I shake my head. “Stupid,” I say.

“Yeah”, he says, taking my hand again, “and you’re not stupid, so don’t think that.”

_ He’s always so warm.  _

“I’m glad you’re not like that. I like you the way you are.”

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met that I really like. Like you said, tolerating people...it becomes second nature, but I’ve never felt this way until now. I think I care about you,” my voice trails off at the end. 

He squeezes my hand and then leans toward me. His long hair tickles my face as we kiss, the only sound is our breathing and the slow churning of the water in front of us. He smiles after we breakaway, and I can’t help myself from meeting his smile with my own. 

“I’m still going to pretend...for now at least.”

He nods solemnly. “That’s cool, just don’t with me.”

I shake my head, shivering not from cold but from the way he said it. It is almost unnerving to me how much he has already gotten under my skin. It’s not scary, I like it, but it’s weird. I’ve experienced a lot of weirdness in my life. This is a new kind. We sit there for awhile in silence.

“Who’s Jamie?”

I frown at the name and don’t answer him. I glare at the water with old anger bubbling in my chest. I feel new anger aimed at myself for being so easily triggered by that name, by that memory, by his face in my head. I suddenly want to scream. I want to beat my fists against something until it splinters, a post, a face...a clown...anything. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, “I just noticed it in your notebook.” 

I jolt out of my anger and sniffle, wiping my nose. I am not crying, but I feel the anger settle as a lump in my throat. 

“I will,” I say, looking at him. The silence that follows is heavy.

“Just not now,'' he nods, putting his arm around me again.

I smile and look at him. I don’t often feel thankful for things, in fact I can’t remember the last time I did. Still, whether his feelings are real or not, it is hard not to be vulnerable with him. I’ve known him a day, and I can already see that. My eyes start to get heavy, and I lay my head on his arm.

“I should get some sleep,” I say yawning, “if I’m going to have  _ any _ restraint at school tomorrow.”

“C’mon”, he says standing up.

I take his hand, and he leads me back the way we came. 

“Can I walk you to your house?”

I shrug, “sure, unless you’re afraid of getting caught past curfew,” I whisper playfully. 

He laughs and we walk to my house. As we pass the sewer I stopped at before we met up, I slow down. The clown hadn’t been on my mind much with Patrick. Part of me really wanted to stop and look for It again. Part of me wanted to try to push the whole thing from my head because it made me feel crazy and unsteady to interact with something that was clearly a delusion. I’ve never felt crazy before, not really. Violent and impulsive maybe, but I’m not a lunatic.

_ Maybe you are. Maybe that’s how your different. _

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I say, too tired to get into it now, “I’m just sleepy.”

We stop at my front steps. “Get some sleep then,” he says smiling. 

“See you tomorrow,” I say, “try not to get abducted on your way home.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

I laugh and he kisses my forehead. It’s a sweet gesture that catches me off guard. We laugh awkwardly and then I turn and go inside. Standing at the front window, I watch his lanky form walk away down the dark street. I can feel how cold the glass pane is without even touching it. Spring in Derry seems colder than it should be. Summer is coming quickly, but the shadows make the nights cold and damp. 

_ He makes me warm and I just don’t know how to feel about it.  _

I smile though as I go upstairs to my room. I don’t think I could ignore him now.

_ Probably not even if I wanted to… _


	4. Fake Plastic Trees

_"In a town full of rubber plans_   
_To get rid of itself_

_It wears her out_   
_It wears her out_   
_It wears her out_   
_It wears her out."_

_\- Fake Plastic Trees, Radiohead_

**Chapter 4**

I skip most of the school day. I didn’t even oversleep, I just couldn’t bring myself to go any faster that morning. My parents are nowhere to be found. I figure they have gone to work already, although I can’t seem to remember what either one does for a living. I’m starting to forget their faces too.

_Trying to be good while living in this town is eating my brain._

As much as I like Patrick...and even the clown in a way... all the rest of the shit in Derry is as boring as the others. By the time noon rolls around I have listened to every cassette and CD I own, played Space Invaders until my head hurt, and sat in the empty bathtub lighting pieces of toilet paper on fire. I don’t know if it is Patrick or pure boredom that finally makes me walk over to the school, but I’ve already missed most of my last class when I walk in. The fat, bald teacher whose name I never bothered to learn does not even look up. Dropping my backpack next to the desk, I drop into the chair and slouch back. A sharp jab makes me look over my shoulder.

“What the fuck was that about last night?” Greta whispers harshly.

I was so out of it I didn't even see her sitting there when I sat down. 

“That?” I whisper back, “Greta, I was joking.” My tone is even.

She doesn’t answer right away. I can almost hear the gears in her head turning.

“Really?”

I nod. 

“It...didn’t seem like it.”

“That’s how I joke,” I whisper casually, “weren’t you joking?” I add, making my tone innocent and worried. 

“Um..totally” she says, her voice back to normal, “wow, we really got each other huh? You we’re just fucking with me then, right?”

“Totally”, I say back, smirking. 

Patrick’s right. I need a means to an end. A way to keep other worse things in check.

_Maybe being Greta’s lacky is better than beating the shit out of her...or worse._

Still, the thought of it makes me cringe. The bell rings. I linger at the teacher’s desk figuring he’ll have to talk to me about basically skipping the whole day, but he doesn’t even look up. I stand there for another second, staring down at his bald head.

I shrug and keep walking out into the hall.

I smile as I meet his eyes. There is a new look in them. One I don’t immediately recognize. When he sees me, he walks up quickly. 

“Where were you?” His tone is calm, but his eyes dart around my face like when he asked my name yesterday. 

“I took the scenic route,” I joke, but he doesn’t smile.

“Another kid got snatched last night. When I couldn’t find you…”

It dawns on me. “Relief,” I say out loud, “you’re relieved I’m ok.”

He shakes his head and smiles, “well yeah,” he pauses and drops his voice, “I mean it’s new for me too, ya know?” 

I smile and take his hand. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

“Is that what you were trying--”

“No,” I say defensively.

“Ook”, he says, rolling his eyes.

We walk over to the boys. 

“Look at that,” Henry says, whistling, “Hockstetter landed the new girl...only took a day.”

I roll my eyes. “Jealous?”

“Maybe,” Henry smiles. 

I frown at him. “Hard pass,” I say, squeezing Patrick’s hand.

Henry shrugs, “your loss, toots.”

“Cleo!”

I sigh. Greta runs up to me like we didn’t just have a full conversation 15 minutes ago. Patrick smirks at me and I shrug.

“Cleo, I didn’t see you leave, girl”, her voice falters a little when she looks at Patrick. 

I don’t answer. 

“What are we doing?” 

_Fuck, she’s so pathetic._

“ _We_ aren’t doing anything,” Patrick says. 

“We’re talking about how to spend the summer,” Henry says, uncharacteristically friendly, “what do you want, spaz?” 

“We should totally hang out,” she smiles at him, ignoring the jab.

There is something like courage in her eyes. The reason dawns on me and it makes my blood boil.

_She thinks I’m afraid of_ her. _That I had second thoughts because_ she _scares_ me. 

I keep my face flat, ignoring the growing irritation that is turning into rage. She continues, “we could go on a double date, me and you,” she looks at me, “and Cleo and Patrick.”

_I’m gonna throw up. Where’s the fucking clown when I need him?_

“Hold up,” Vic says. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard him talk. 

We turn and look at a group of boys walking toward us. They are obviously freshmen. They are laughing, but their faces drop when they see us. I glance at the people around me, and they are all grinning, even Patrick. 

“Losers,” Greta spits as they walk by.

They continue past us. I glance at Henry and finally see why everyone else is so spooked by him. His face twists in a strange way, not like Patrick’s, although looking at both of them now I see the similarity in their expressions.

“Means to an end,” I repeat to myself, looking at Patrick.

He looks at me then, his expression softening. He tries to take my hand again, but I step backward, turning and walking toward the school doors. As I pass an open classroom, I stop and glare at the clown sitting in a desk cackling and singing.

_Looosers, looosers, Cleo likes the losers. Jamie was one, and she had her fun. She saw red, and now he’s dead!_

It jumps into the door frame as I continue walking. It’s eyes yellow and teeth sharp.

_Kill the losers! Kill them all!_

I should have stayed home. I should have been good yesterday. I can’t handle myself.

_You’re such a fuck up._

I shake my head. Self-pity is never my style. It’s that clown and this school...this fucking town. 

“Hey”, Patrick says, catching my arm.

I don’t have to say anything, I can tell he knows.

“They’re just a bunch of losers, everybody is...not you and me.”

“Yeah I know,” I say, “I just can’t. Not again.”

He doesn’t let go, we are very still as people leaving for the day pass us. 

“Jamie?”

“Stop,” my tone is harsh, “you don’t know me, Patrick. You may know how I think, but you don’t know what I’ve done. What I’m trying to do now. I like you...a lot,” I shake my head, “but I can’t be this. This...is a mistake,” I say reluctantly. 

He’s not mad. I do not expect him to be. He squeezes my arm. 

“I’ll wait,” he says deeply, “I _do_ know you. I can wait.”

I glance behind him at the rest of the group. They seem confused, concerned maybe. 

“I’m more stubborn than you”, I say, more loudly now that the hall is mostly cleared out, “I’m used to pretending”, I add in a whisper.

“You can’t with me,” he shoots back smiling, “I’m not just going to leave you alone, Cleo. We both feel this. I’ll wait,” he repeats again. 

I know what “this” is. It is not something easily explained to someone else. The intensity and the intuition we seem to have. It’s close to what love is, I imagine. Still, it’s not the same. It’s darker.

_Like him...like me_

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine,” he smiles. 

I smile back. I can’t help it, he’s right. We click. Anyone else would be sad or upset.

_He’s just…amused._

I realize I am too and ignore it, frowning again. I turn back around and leave. I feel better, lighter, having made the choice to be good. I can be good.


	5. Splendid Isolation

" _Don't want to wake up with no one beside me._  
 _Don't want to take up with nobody new._  
 _Don't want nobody coming by without calling first._  
 _Don't want nothing to do with you._

_I'm putting tinfoil up on the windows_  
 _Lying down in the dark to dream._  
 _I don't want to see their faces_  
 _I don't want to hear them scream."_ ****

_\- Splendid Isolation, Warren Zevon_

**Chapter 5**

I’m a loner again. I always end up one, but this time it’s been an effort. Patrick was honest when he told me he wouldn’t leave me alone, but the clown has lately. Patrick now pops up like It used to. Except I know he’s real at least. Feeling his eyes on me, walking past the group, I usually meet their stares with blank brown eyes.

_You’re not afraid of anything..._ the clown’s voice in my memory. It’s right again. I’m not, not of Patrick, not of Henry, and not of a stupid clown.

It’s the last day of school. I haven’t been here long, but it feels like an eternity. Monotonous school days turning into long eventless nights. I suppose I deserve it, but I don’t feel like I do. I managed to pass the 11th grade, even with my shitty attendance and lack of interest. I thought it would make my parents happy. They didn’t seem to care. 

_It’s been a long month._

My birthday came and went, and I received a single present, an old metal lighter. I found it in my locker the day I turned 17. I held it in my palm, turning it over and over in my fingers. I knew who it was from before I saw the letters scratched into its side. 

_PH_

I had gotten really good at ignoring things over the last few weeks, but I couldn’t ignore how holding it made me feel. It had a warmth to it like he does. I found myself wondering how he had known it was my birthday and then wondering when his was. It seemed silly to me, trivial that I cared, but I still did. Patrick really is different for me, and I seem to be different for him. I wrap my fist around the lighter in my pocket as I walk slowly out of the building. I am dreading summer in Derry; at least school kept me superficially busy.

_I have to find a hobby. Maybe a job._

Outside the school, I pass the losers and Bowers minions on the front lawn.The younger boys look at me nervously, and my former pals smile eagerly. Patrick, who is crouched over the Jewish kid, stands and looks at me. I briefly meet his eyes, but drop my gaze again, ignoring all of them this time. The look in his eyes starts as taunting, but when I don’t react, hurt leaks into them. 

_He’s patient, but not that patient. He likes me too much._

The red-haired girl comes up to me, a short chubby boy is behind her. I ignore them too. 

_You ignore everything now. You’re depressed._

_I’m being good._

_You’re killing yourself._

_Maybe I should._

I’ve never felt depressed before, but that what this feeling has to be...after shutting everything down. There was a time I considered the possibility of being a psychopath. I know now that I am not. I feel lots of things for other people, just not very good things most of the time. Empathy is something I have grown at this school. It’s hard not to when everything and everybody is so pitiful. 

“Hey,” the girl says, breaking my train of thought, “I never got your name.” 

I stop. Her eyes are pleading, like they aren’t really interested in what she’s asking. They dart to her left. I sigh. I know why I feel like I have to help her. I realized a long time ago that I don’t feel guilty about what happened to him, but helping her, with his eyes, makes it feel like I’m finally being the good person I should be. _._

“Fuck off, Henry,” I say loudly without looking at them.

“Make me”

I look at him, then Patrick, then each one again. 

“You know I will,” I say, “You know me, right Patrick?”

He smiles, enjoying this game now. Henry glances at a cop, who I have learned is his dad, and drops his voice. He gets in the face of one of the losers, and says something about his brother and a free ride. I’ve had a lot of free time on my hands trying to distract myself from Patrick. I did some digging on the kids that went missing, one of them was a boy named Georgie Denbrough. His brother Bill goes here. I had never noticed he was one of the losers that Bowers terrorizes until recently. 

Henry leaves then, with Vic and Belch in tow. Patrick lingers, like he always does. The amusement gone and an irritated expression on his face.

“C’mon, baby” he says quietly, his intense blue eyes angry with me. 

Its new and it makes me smile. He huffs but I catch it, his smile that falls under his long black hair as he looks at the ground. He follows Henry to a red car parked across the street. I look back at the girl when they drive away. She looks relieved. 

“Cleo”, I say flatly.

“What--oh right. Beverly”, she smiles, ”just Bev, actually.”

“Cool,” I nod. 

“This is Ben,” she continues as the chubby boy awkwardly smiles at me.

“Cool,” I repeat. 

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, just tired. I’m always tired.” 

She is about to say something else when she stops and her eyes grow wide, looking at something behind me. Fear springs into her face. I turn, expecting to see Greta. 

_She’s never far behind Henry._

I freeze when I meet the clown’s eyes some distance away across the field. It’s long tongue falls from Its mouth and loops between the links of the metal fence. The long sharp teeth hook around them like a rabid dog. 

I glare at It. Then turn back to Bev. “What?” I ask her.

“Nothing”, she looks at the ground.

“No, tell me”

“It’s nothing--”

I grab her by the shoulders and she yelps. I may not have Patrick, but I am going to settle this shit at least. 

“Tell me what you see” I say urgently, quietly.

Her eyes look so much like his. I let go of her. 

“Sorry,” I say.

She shakes her head. The horror on her face is gone, but fear still rests there. Now it’s not because of the clown, but because of me. I meet them. I’m sure she can tell I’m not really sorry, and it scares her. 

“The clown,” I whisper.

The fear is replaced by surprised recognition. She nods slowly. I nod back; that’s all I need. Walking away abruptly, I put distance between myself and the clown. My mind races for a moment, my logic trying to justify It.

_Am I afraid?_

No, I realize that I’m confused.

_How? So, there_ is _actually a clown, a real one, running around Derry..._

Then I remember the missing kids. I stop walking, having almost made it to the bridge that Patrick and I kissed by a month ago.

_It’s not a clown, not really._

“Shit,” I say out loud, laughing. “I thought I was insane. It’s this fucking town,” I say to myself once I catch my breath. 

I sit down on the curb and take the lighter out of my pocket. Resting my elbows on my knees, I hold the lighter up and flick it open. Letting the flame rise and fall, I don’t even look away from it when I hear the clown’s laugh.

“Where have you been?” I ask casually.

“Waiting for you to accept who you are,” Its sing-song voice rings out from the storm drain next to my foot. 

“Yeah ok, Mufasa,” I roll my eyes, “and taking kids in the meantime?”

“I’m hungry. I’m always hungry, like you.”

“You eat them?”

It just giggles.

“I don’t know what you are, but you’re not like me,” I say.

“Sure I am. If you’d stop pretending to be something you’re not, you would see that,” It's voice drops to a low growl, “and you know what I want.”

“And _you_ know what _I_ want,” I shoot back, “what the hell are you?”

“I’m Pennywise. I could be your friend, your means to an end,” It purrs, “I could show you unimaginable ways to bring fear and torment to this town.”

“Tempting, but no thanks, _Pennywise,”_ I laugh. 

It growls again. “You’re no fun anymore, Cleo. You’re losing yourself. You’re becoming a loser.”

I sigh. “I don’t give a shit what you think of me or what you want with me. You want me to what? Murder people? I’ve spent all this time controlling it, why would I change now? For you? I’ve never changed for anyone, not even--”

“Patrick”, It whispers, “he’s the reason. You care about him. You want him to care about you It’s changing you.”

I flip the lighter shut and shove it back in my pocket. “Get fucked, Bobo.”

“He doesn’t,” It spits, “he never has and never will. I’ll prove it. By the kissing bridge, you’ll see. He would ssskin you in a second to save his own.”

I look down at the storm drain. “What are you going to do?”

It just laughs at me. The sound echos and moves away from the pavement down into the sewers. 

“Shit”, I say and jump up.

The bridge is not far from where I am and when I reach it, I peek around the corner to see Bowers and his gang. 

_Are they multiplying? How are they everywhere?_

I see Ben shoved up against the railing of the bridge. Vic and Belch are on either side of him holding his arms down. He is screaming, is face red and scared. Henry stands in front of him, his switchblade glistening in the sun, a twisted smile on his face. I look at Patrick, who is standing a little farther away, a lighter in one hand and a hairspray can in the other. I look around for the clown, but It’s nowhere in sight. 

“C’mon Cleo”, I say. But I don’t know what I should do. 

I watch as Patrick lights his flamethrower inches from Ben’s face. The boys laugh and Ben pleads with them to stop. I know that I should move, that I should do something, but I can’t. My eyes are fixed on the flames, Patrick’s smirk, and the look of desperate terror on Ben’s face. It takes me back, but I know that I can’t dwell there now. Still I let myself linger for a moment as Henry moves his knife to his belly.

“I’m gonna carve my whole name into this cottage cheese!” 

Trying to be good pales in comparison to being bad. I can try all I want, but the sight of Ben’s blood as Henry carves an H into his gut is overwhelming me after a month of nothing but boring platitudes and Greta’s voice ringing in my ears every goddamn day. I smile before I can help myself. I smile again when Ben kicks Henry backward and falls over the railing.

_Good for you, kid._

Henry jumps over after him, followed by the other three. I run up to where they fell and crouch down behind the railing. I see Henry send Patrick and Belch off while he and Vic look for what I assume is his knife. 

“Idiots,” I hiss quietly as I creep under the railing and down the hill, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, following Patrick and Belch. I cut through the trees and wait in the clearing by the river. I see Patrick’s lanky form and yellow shirt first. He points Belch in one direction and he continues in the other toward the sewer drain.

“Fucking fuck,” I say. I run, picking up a small rock as I do. I come splashing up behind him in the shallow water, cringing as it soaks my socks and shoes. Before he can fully turn around, I chuck the rock at the back of his head. It hits him, and he stops.

“Little shit”, he mutters.

When he does turn around, his eyes are intense as the day I met him. They are not angry with Ben for throwing the rock but excited that he has an even better reason to set him on fire. His face falls in surprise when he sees it’s not Ben. I hold my hands up innocently. I don’t even really see him move the lighter to the other hand. He’s just on me suddenly. Water splashes loudly around our ankles as he pushes me up against the dirty tunnel wall. His long fingers are wrapped around my throat. His grin is back, and I meet it with my own, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. 

“I almost lit you up,” he says, squeezing my throat. 

“You’d--probably--like to,” I choke. 

He shakes his head, squinting his eyes at me. “You know I wouldn’t,” he states. 

I nod, “yeah I know,” I whisper at him, “you obviously have other plans here.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t,” he says.

His eyes fail him. I know he’s not going to hurt me...not really. 

“Go ahead.”

He pauses. Then his grip loosens, and his hand falls until it is pressed against my chest. He smiles at my racing heart. 

“Did I scare you?”

“We both know that’s not what this is,” I smile.

His hand drops, and we step away from the wall.

“You gonna help me find--”

I kiss him, standing on my toes to reach his lips. He kisses me back, wrapping his thin arms around me. I bite his lip and feel him smile, biting me back. As we break away from each other I look at him sternly.

_Just do it. Ask him._

“Do you love me?” My voice sounds smaller than it ever has. I wonder if this is how Jamie felt asking me the same thing.


	6. Sympathy for the Devil

Chapter 6

_"Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith... _

_...So if you meet me  
Have some courtesy  
Have some sympathy, and some taste  
Use all your well-learned politesse  
Or I'll lay your soul to waste." _

_\- Sympathy for the Devil, The Rolling Stones_

“Do you love me?” My voice sounds smaller than it ever has. I wonder if this is how Jamie felt asking me the same thing. 

He laughs, but then stops when I don’t. His eyes meet mine with seriousness. 

“I don’t know what else to call this.”

“Me neither...” I say, “I think I love you, Patrick.” 

He straightens up, smirking at me. “You just threw a rock at my head.”

“You just choked me.”

“So we’re the same: violent and fucked-up,” he says, “what else is new?” 

“This is,” I say, not wavering from my point, “the way we feel about each other is new, you said it yourself—“

“Everything with you has been new,” he cuts me off, his tone irritated, “even after you blew me off, the pain of not having you around was real. The feeling I got when you said my name again after a month of avoiding me, that was real too. My whole life, I’ve been the only real thing in existence. My parents, Bowers, the fuckheads at school; none of them are real,” he’s yelling at me now, his voice echoes when he pauses. Looking at me with his head cocked sideways, he continues quietly, “and you show up out of nowhere, real as me...except you’re fighting it. You’re fighting me.”

“Do you love me?” I ask again. 

“I—“

Water splashes further inside the tunnel. Patrick's head jerks toward it and he grins. 

“I hear ya, tits!” he calls. 

“Don’t,” I say grabbing his arm as he moves to continue into the drain. 

“You scared now?”

“No”, I say grimly, “there’s something in here. It wants to eat you, I think. I should have told you before,” I pause, “but I thought I was crazy, that It was in my head, but It’s not.” 

He looks at me. I don’t know what I expected, maybe for him to laugh at me or call me insane. 

“It’s ok if you’re afraid.”

I huff in frustration. “Fine,” I say, unzipping my backpack, pulling out a can of hairspray. 

Walking back to the mouth of the drain, I toss my backpack up on the bank of the river. I turn and slosh back to him. He’s grinning at me as I take the lighter out of my pocket. 

“Let’s go, then,” I say.

“Happy Birthday, by the way,'' he says as we move into the darkness.

“Thanks for the gift,'' I say, lighting up the tunnel.

“I thought you’d like it. It’s my best one.”

“You’re a dork.”

His laugh echoes in the dim tunnel. My eyes are slowly adjusting as we slosh further in. I want to tell him to be quiet, but I don’t think it would make a difference to the clown.

“You like horror movies, huh?”

“I wasn’t talking about a movie,” I say patiently. 

_I mean, it does sound crazy, but so does half the stuff he says._

“When we met, you asked me to be real with you”, I continue as we turn a corner, “You just said I _am_ real to you, so listen ok? There’s this clown, but It’s not a clown. It’s an...It, I guess. The missing kids”, he looks at me, “they never found them because there is nothing left to find...It eats them.”

He’s still looking for Ben, shooting flames as we go, but I see that he _is_ listening. A look of realization followed by one of horror distorts his face. His blue eyes are huge, filled with something that doesn’t really fit his face. 

_Fear._

“You found us, Patrick,” a girl whispers. 

I spray more fire and in the orange glow, a girl with rotting flesh and glazed eyes grins at Patrick. He yells, and I hear the can and lighter fall from his hands into the water. It takes me a minute and another blast of light, but I recognize her from the pictures in the newspaper next to Georgie Denbrough. 

“Betty Ripsom?”

Her head jerks in my direction, her grin widening. “He’ll float, Cleo. You’ll float too. We all float, down here.”

“Fuck you, Betty”

I blast my flamethrower into what is left of her face. She shrieks and runs back into the darkness ahead of us, the screams turning into howling laughter. 

“Get out!” I yell at Patrick who seems to have frozen beside me. 

“What are you afraid of, Cleo? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” The clown’s voice trails off at the end into a mess of different growling noises. 

It grabs me from the darkness. My expression is hard as It’s glowing yellow eyes glare into mine. I glare back, thinking about what Patrick said. 

_It’s not real. Nobody else is. I’m real. He’s real._

I don’t know if I really believe nobody else is real, but I do know they don’t matter. This clown doesn’t matter. I land a punch to the side of It’s head. It roars then, dropping me into the water. I scamper up in time to see It lunge at me, teeth bared.

_This is it. This is how I d—_

It shrieks again as flames erupt into It’s face. I look at Patrick, who is holding his flamethrower again. He drops it, grabs my wrist and we run back the way we came. The water suddenly feels much deeper, and the gray light pouring from the tunnel’s mouth feels far away. I’m still holding my can and lighter as we leap out into the dusk. Patrick is ripped from my peripheral vision. 

“Run Cleo!” I hear him yell as he is pulled back toward the drain. 

I turn and face the clown. It holds Patrick, standing just inside the shadow of the tunnel. Patrick doesn’t look scared anymore. He looks angry. He struggles in the clown’s arms. 

“Run Cleo!” He repeats. 

I shake my head. The clown smiles, It’s yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. 

“Losers, losers,” It hisses, saliva dripping from Its teeth, “Cleo likes the losers. Jamie was one, she had her fun, she saw red, and now he’s dead.”

Its grip tightens on Patrick as It sings, “Patrick’s a loser, a fucked up little loser--” Patrick kicks It. 

“--I’ll squeeze and squeeze him ‘till he’s blue, and when I’m done, you’ll float too!”

Patrick cries out, It’s nails growing and digging into his shirt, tearing it and cutting into him. 

“I’m not afraid, Pennywise,” I say.

“If you loove him then you _are_ afraid,” It coos at me, “You’re afraid to lose him.”

“No I’m not”, I say stepping forward, “because I won’t; not to a pansy-ass clown that hangs out in a high school and lives in shit!”

The can of hairspray suddenly feels heavy, like a brick. I picture it as a brick, heavy and rough, and then throw it as hard as I can at It’s face. It bounces off It’s temple, knocking It backward. Patrick falls into the water. I lunge forward and grab him. I’m already starting to run as I pull him to his feet.

“I’m ok”, he says as we run, his voice breaking.


	7. Fire Meet Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soooo fair warning, this chapter gets dirty. sex, I am talking about sex. It was kind of weird to write it in first person, but since the rest of the story is, it only made sense. Maybe you're into that, if you are, you're welcome. I tried to keep it...nice? Idk, the original was just straight up smut, which didn't really fit with the whole story. 
> 
> If you don't want to read the sex scene...well I think you will be able to tell when they get freaky.  
> Ok, I'm done. Hope ya like it.

_"It's dangerous_   
_To fall in love, but I_   
_Wanna burn with you tonight._

_Hurt me_

_There's two of us_   
_We're certain with desire_   
_The pleasure's pain and fire_

  
_Burn me"_

_\- Fire Meet Gasoline, Sia_

Chapter 7

We run for a long time, up the hill and away from the bridge, past the school, past the library, until we reach my house. We don’t stop moving until we are in my room. We are both gasping for air by the time we reach it. 

“Shit”, I breathe as I gulp in air, sitting down on my floor. 

He squishes down next to me. We are both soaked. He is bleeding from little holes in his chest where the clown’s claws gouged him. As our breathing begins to return to normal he collapses on me, his head resting in my lap. I look down and move his wet hair off his face. 

“What in the fuck?” he says. 

“I told you so,” I say. 

“You did,” he nods grimly. 

“And I thought Derry was boring.”

He laughs, still breathless, rolling so he is looking up at me. He reaches up and tucks my wet stringy hair behind my ear. 

“So that thing—“

“It calls Itself Pennywise”

—It ate everybody,” he says, there’s no fear on his face anymore, just a furrowed brow, like he is processing, “and you’ve seen it before?”

“Yeah”, I say flatly, “you aren’t the only stalker I have.”

“Guess not,” he pauses, “what is It though?”

“No idea, It’s never been very clear with me. It talks in rhymes, looks like a clown...It can hear your thoughts, I think.”

“It heard yours?”

I nod. “It knew things no one knows, from the first time I saw It.”

“So when you yelled at school...“

“Yeah,” I say, “It was in the hallway.”

“Why haven’t I seen It before?”

I shrug, turning the silver rings on his hand, “It picks people. It eats some...pushes others,” I pause, “pushes them to the edge...to be like It.”

“It...pushed you?”

“It tried,” I don’t make him ask, “because It thinks we're alike...hungry... _homicidal_.”

His eyebrows go up and he smiles. “I knew it.”

“Well, doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, “I’m on Its shit list now.”

“Yeah, It knew zombies scare the shit out of me,” Patrick says, zoning out for a second, “but It couldn’t find your fear..”

“I don’t have any,” I pause, frowning at his fingers, “at least I have never been afraid of anything before.” 

“You are now?”

I shake my head, water running over my ears as I do, “I don’t feel afraid. I feel relieved that the clown wasn’t my brain fucking with me this whole time, that this town has bigger issues than me...and that you’re ok.”

“You saved me,” he says, nodding. 

“You saved me first.”

“True.”

“Why? Why didn’t you run?”

The question is the same as before because I already know why. It’s the same reason I didn’t run.

_I want him to say it._

“Because I love you too”

There’s no hesitation this time, no games, no bullshit. He sits up, scooting closer to me. 

“I don’t like it all the time, and I know you don’t either,” he pauses, “but I love you, Cleo”, he says again. 

He leans in to kiss me, and I put my fingers on his mouth, pushing him back. He looks confused.

“We just fought off a killer clown while rolling around in a ton of shit water”, I say laughing, “we need to shower.” 

“Yep”, he nods, pulling me to my feet and follows me to the bathroom.

“Together?” His expression is hard to read.

I smirk at him as I take off my shirt. 

“You were ready to do it in the middle of the street, the shower is too much?”

“I’ve been ready”, he says icily, “just weren’t sure if you had to think about it some more.”

“Oh ok”, I laugh, ignoring his pout. 

I move to the faucet to turn on the water, and he catches my arm. I grunt, half in shock, half in frustration, as he shoves me against the sliding doors of the shower. 

“You're sure, baby?” he says, his eyes flashing, “cause once I start, I’m not going to stop.”

“Fair enough” I exhale. 

He smiles, his blue eyes full of intent. Reaching down behind me, he turns the water on. I step in, and watch him strip off his torn shirt. 

When he joins me, I touch the wounds on his chest lightly as we stand under the hot water. I try to wash them out with soap.

“This hurt?” I ask.

“Not really,” he says, preoccupied with touching me. 

I quickly become preoccupied with that too. His slender fingers dance down my body, massaging my sore shoulders where the clown grabbed me. I wince a little.

“Does that hurt?” 

“Not really”, I say, meeting his eyes as I run the bar of soap along my own body now.

He smiles and traces down the slope of my shoulders, moving down…

_Oh Shit_

A little noise escapes me, and I drop the soap I was using. 

“How about that?” He whispers against my ear as his hands continue down my stomach. 

I smile, wanting him to keep going, and wanting to make him whimper too. My hand finds what it was after. Looking down at it between us, I touch him lightly. I’d imagined him, all of him, many times while trying to fall asleep, masturbation being one of the only things left I enjoyed in my month of solitary. He swallows hard as I tighten my grip and move with him. He purrs against me and bites my ear. We don’t speak for a while. The water sprays over us as we make each other weak.

_No one else knows me like this. I don’t think they ever will._

There are so many things I could watch, but I watch his face now. Something about it makes me want him more. His eyes are fixed on mine. I moan as his hand clenches around my throat again. I quicken my pace, making his grip tighten. 

“Fuck”, he groans, pulling me toward him.

“Please”, I whisper back between our kisses. 

He laughs through his nose, and moves his hands to my shoulders again. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” I say without stopping.

I gasp as he moves, pushing me to the back of the shower. He brings his face close to mine. 

“I really do love you,” he says, “but I’m gonna fuck you like I don’t.” 

“Don’t go easy,” I breathe, closing my eyes, trying to keep my feet from sliding out from under me.

He flips me over, and his strength surprises me. I only ever caught glimpses of his weakness before he was in my hand, but I still forget his power sometimes...his intensity.

I catch myself with my palms braced against the shower wall. I hear the sound of the spank before I feel it, and I arch my back.

“You didn’t think I was gonna start gentle?”

I just shake my head, because for the first time in a long time, my mouth is shut; my mind is quiet. I only want one thing, and he is going to make me want it until it hurts...

We go for a while. The feeling is nothing I can describe. My head is melting in long-awaited bliss. 

Suddenly he flips me around again. Pressing his body against me, my back hits the wall. Wincing a little, I rest my arms on his shoulders, stroking the soapy hair out of his eyes and smiling. He catches my leg in his arm as it moves up against his waist.

“Patrick”, I say, kissing him. 

“Say it again,” he growls against my mouth. 

I lean to his ear and whisper his name again, my hand reaching down. I guide him back into me again. He kisses me, biting my lip so hard I taste the blood as it dribbles down my chin. I laugh through my gasps as he moves. 

I run my tongue over my cut bottom lip. He lifts me, just slightly, just enough to kiss and bite every part of me. The back of my head hits the shower wall. I lean it forward, resting my forehead on his bouncing shoulder. My head rings, but I don’t care. Everything feels so good. The pain, the pleasure, everything. 

I lose the race. My head goes back on the tile again as I give him everything, exhaling loudly as I do. He gives in too, moaning my name as he does. I didn’t think it was possible for him to make me any warmer. The water is cold by now, but I’m a fire. He is too, I see it behind his eyes as we catch our breath. He kisses my forehead, like he did the night he walked me home, and holds my arms tight. 

“I almost fell”, he says, still breathless. 

“Me too”, I say. I kiss him gently, “You were good.”

“I know,” he grins, wiping the blood off my lip with his thumb, “so were you.”

“Did you ever doubt?” I grin back.

“Not once,” he shakes his head, “I jerked it so many times thinking about you.”

“Romantic”, I say sarcastically. 

He shrugs, “You didn’t?

“Oh I definitely did,” I say, pouring honey into my voice again, “every night.”

“You want more?” His eyes flash again, but I can tell he’s worn out.

_This day has been insane._

I turn the water off and we get out of the shower.

“Can I sleep here?” he asks, yawning as I ring out my hair in a towel.

I laugh, patting his chest. “Did I wear you out that much?”

“Fighting off the demon clown did that,” he smirks, “I’m just starting with you.”

“Right”, I laugh flopping the towel over his head, “cool your jets, c’mon.”

He follows me back to my room, shaking his hair dry in the towel. We collapse onto the bed and fall asleep almost immediately. My head rests on his chest as I drift off, happier than I knew I could be.

The feeling doesn't last long. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Play with Fire

_"Insane, inside the danger gets me high_   
_Can't help myself, got secrets I can't tell_   
_I love the smell of gasoline_   
_I light the match to taste the heat_

_I've always liked to play with fire"_

_\- Play with Fire, Sam Tinnesz_

**Chapter 8**

“Cleo, what are you doing?!”

I can barely hear the voice. My eyes are fixed on the squat little stop-n-go mart. My head cocks to one side as I watch the flames climb up the sides of the building. I don’t find a lot of things beautiful but this is. They climb fast, like vines made of light. I smile, closing my eyes for a moment. Breathing in the smell of the gasoline, feeling the heat of the fire on my face, I am at peace.

_Finally._

“Cleo!” My eyes open as a hand grabs my shoulder and whips me around. 

His eyes, always sad, are frantic now. “What in the hell--”

“Go away, Jamie.”

He shakes his head. “What are you doing!?” He repeats.

I look back at the growing fire. “It’s beautiful.”

“Wha--C’mon”, he says, pulling me away. 

I fight him. I want to watch.

_I want to see it burn._

“Cleo”

_I hate the way he says my name._

I hear the firemen now, and I don’t know how I didn’t hear the sirens. The night was so quiet before the fire. 

“Hey!” one of them shouts at us.

Jamie picks me up and starts to run. I never considered how much bigger than me he is until now. He sprints away from the scene, zig zagging through the dark trees until we reach four massive, splintering wooden posts that race up into the dark sky. No one knows what this tower is for, at least nobody I’ve asked. It has become our place. Climbing the stairs two at a time, Jamie sets me down once we reach the top. 

“Are you ok?”

_He’s such a--_

“Cleo?” 

I flinch at my name again, but I nod. “I’m fine.”

“Why? Why did you set the stop-n-go on fire?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t...it was...I--”

“You did”, he says, “I saw you do it.”

Something occurs to me then. “Why were you following me?”

He looks away, “you’re my girlfriend, you were acting weird, I just wanted to know you were ok.” 

“I’m fine”, I repeat.

“You are not!” He looks around, realizing it is best to be quiet, “You just set a building on fire.”

“You saw me do it.”

He takes it as a question. “Yes”, he nods, “you poured the gas, you lit the match, you did it, Cleo. The other fires, that was you too? All this time...We have to tell someone, we have to...”

I stare at him. He stops. 

“No”, he says, shaking his head, “no I guess we can’t tell anyone. I won’t. I promise.”

He scoots next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. I feel prickly, cold and hot at the same time.

_This isn’t right._

“It’s not right”, Jamie repeats my thoughts. 

I look over and start, pushing away from him.

“It’s not right, because that’s not what I said, is it Cleo?” Jamie’s sad eyes are gone, replaced by hungry yellow ones. 

Pennywise digs Its claws into my arm, and It’s long yellow teeth nash in my face.

“Loserssssss”, It hisses.

“Fuck”, I say groggily as I wake up. 

I yawn, shaking my head and look around my room. It’s morning; the grey daylight pours into my window and dances on the walls. 

“Patrick?”

I don’t know why I ask, it’s obvious I am alone in the room. I get up and groan, falling back onto the bed. 

_He really did a number on me._

I smile, pull myself up, and walk to the bathroom, wincing a little. I examine his work, running my fingers over the bruises and bite marks. I bring my fingers up to my bottom lip. It is not very swollen, but there is an angry red cut from his teeth. I touch the patch of dried blood on my cheek and my mind flashes images of the clown holding him, squeezing It’s claws into his chest. I turn on the faucet and listen to the water for a minute, washing away as much as I can. As I wash up, I notice his clothes are gone and then see a piece of paper on the sink. 

“ _You’re cute when you sleep._

_You’re a talker too._

_Meeting up with Bowers._

_It could be fun._

_By the bridge at 11._

_P”_

“Great.” 

I pull on a shirt and some jean shorts. Tying up my Flyers, I glance at the clock. 

_40 minutes._

I sigh.

_This boy is really making me have a playdate with Bowers? We almost got eaten yesterday._

I stop. My dream is flashing in my head now. Jamie’s distorted face and yellow eyes making me think.

_No...it doesn’t feel like the clown. He’s fucked with me enough, I would know._

I go back to the sink, and stick my head close to the drain. 

“This better not be that”, I whisper, “or you and me are going to have more problems.”

Nothing happens and for a moment I feel stupid for talking to the sink. 

“Plans”, Betty Ripsom whispers back, “we have plans for you and Patrrrick.”

I sigh again, knowing it is one of relief. 

“Ok, Betty”, I say to myself, rolling my eyes. 

I walk toward the front door and catch a peripheral view of my mom sitting at the dining room table, her back to me. 

“I’m going out”, I say with mock cheerfulness, “oh you don’t care? Cool, bye mom.”

She doesn’t move. I slam the front door behind me before I can see the flies buzzing around her head, the sewer water dripping from her chair and pooling onto the floor.


	9. Blood On My Hands

_"You felt the coldness in my eyes,_   
_It's something I'm not revealing._   
_Though you got used to my disguise,_   
_You can't shake this awful feeling._

_It's the me that I let you know,_   
_'Cause' I'll never show,_   
_I have my reasons._   
_I hate to say that I told you so..._

  
_...but I told you so"_

_\- Blood On My Hands, The Used_

**Chapter 9**

I step off my front stoop and my foot crunches down on something. 

_What in the…oh good, more notes._

I pick up the big, worn envelope. It looks like the ones they keep newspapers in at the library. It has a mark on one side, like someone scribbled out a word. Underneath the mark is my name written in red ink. I feel like I recognize the handwriting, but I can’t place it. 

“Shit”, is all that escapes my mouth as I open it, and my whole life falls out into my hands and onto the pavement. Every secret, every bad thing I have ever done, all neatly laid out in headlines and pictures. 

_“Bakersfield Arsonist Found”, “Local Teen Kills Boyfriend in Psychotic Rage”, “Murderer on a Carjacking Spree”, “Car Crash Maims Two, Suspect Missing”, missing pet, missing pet, missing pet…_

It went on and on. 

“No”, I say angrily dropping the papers to the ground, “No, you fucking clown, this is bullshit!” 

I run over to the storm drain. I crouch down, skinning my knees on the rough street. 

“Pennywise!” Nothing.

“They never found me out, it’s all fake, you stupid...whatever the fuck you are!” I know I’m yelling, I know I shouldn’t be, but I feel so fed up. 

“Scared?” It is barely a whisper.

“I’m not scared of anything”, I say, “and you’re cheating.”

It laughs from somewhere far below. I feel stupid again, which makes me more angry. 

_This clown has made me feel stupid too many times._

“I don’t care”, I say, “I don’t care about your plans, or if you eat this whole goddamn town. Leave me and Patrick out of it.”, I sit down next to the drain, “I’m just tired of it.” 

“You want it to be over?”

“I want you to leave us alone.”

“Usss…”

“Yes”, I say. It feels like a pout, like a defeat. I am fuming. 

“Show me”, It whispers.

“Show you what?”

It just laughs at me. I don’t bother asking again. I know It won’t answer. 

I stand, walking back over to the newspapers. 

_They feel real…they look real._

I huff and shove them back into the envelope. I realize then that I never retrieved my backpack after the sewer fight. I shove my hand into my pocket and roll Patrick’s lighter around in my palm. Tucking the envelope under my arm, I start toward the bridge. 

**…**

“Hey toots”, Henry smiles, “what took you so long?”

I don’t answer him. Patrick is already at my side. 

“You mad?” 

Normally his teasing tone would amuse me, but this morning has held about as much irritation as I can take. 

“No”, I say flatly. 

He squints, a bit in confusion. “Ok...what’s that?”

“Some mail I got”, I shrug it off, “not important.”

“You are mad.”

“Not at you--”

“Hey Cleo.”

I don’t answer her either. I watch stone-faced as Greta walks up behind Henry. 

“Jeez, you look real beat up”, Greta says, her tone high with mock concern. 

I look down at my scraped knees, bruised arms, and run my tongue over my cut lip. 

“Rough night”, I say. 

I see Patrick grin out of the corner of my eye. 

“Rough morning too”, she says, her whiny voice worming its way into my brain. She gestures to the envelope under my arm. 

“What?”

“The package”, she says, “you got it. I wasn’t sure which house was yours, but Patrick stalks around it enough--”

“Bitch”, Patrick says. 

“-- kinda gave it away”, she says grinning in my face. 

She stands directly in front of me now, I can smell the bubblegum she’s chomping on. 

I don’t react. “You sent me this?” I say calmly.

She nods. “I was thinking about how much I hate you, how much better you think you are than me--”

I raise my eyebrows.

“--I mean do you really think I was stupid enough to believe that we were friends again. After what you said to me?”

“This is about being friends?” I ask, bored.

“This is about you being a nasty little freak!” She shouts, dropping her coy tone. “I found that on my porch. I don’t know who put it there, but I’m glad they did. All the shit you’ve done, you’ve killed people, Cleo. You chopped up animals. You’re a monster!”

“Stop”, I say calmly, clenching my hand around the lighter in my pocket. 

She turns to the very confused-looking boys. “She set like 30 houses on fire in California! She _murdered_ her boyfriend too--”

“Shut up, Greta”, I say through clenched teeth. 

“Greta..” even Vic seems wary, the boy barely speaks but his face always gives away his feelings. 

“--pushed him off a tower. She’s a fucking lunatic! Her and her psycho boyfriend are probably the ones killing all those ki--”

She seems confused by the blow to her face, as if I should have let her finish her big speech. I am on her as soon as she slumps to the ground. Maybe if it wasn't Derry, if there was no clown, if there was no Patrick, maybe if I couldn’t hear Henry egging me on, maybe if... 

_No. Maybe if I was good...but I’m not._

I am pinning Greta down. She is still dazed and isn't really fighting me.

"If I did do all of those things," I hiss at her, "why the _fuck_ would you try me?" 

I hit her again, in the teeth this time, hard enough to knock her gum out of her mouth.

"I _am_ better than you", I breathe, "You think I give a shit what _you_ think of _me_?"

Each period is a punch. I exhale as my fists connect with her face.

"You chase girls into bathroom stalls and creep around people that want nothing to do with you. You are a complete and total loser...", I pause as she looks up at me, tears roll down the sides of her face and mix with the blood from her nose, "and you know it."

My mind is empty and red. I see Patrick’s shoes as he walks over. I don't look up. He drops a large rock next to me, and I wrap my fingers around it. 


	10. All Along The Watchtower

"There must be some kind of way outta here  
Said the joker to the thief  
There's too much confusion  
I can't get no relief...

...No reason to get excited  
The thief he kindly spoke  
There are many here among us  
Who feel that life is but a joke."

\- _All Along The Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix (well, Bob Dylan, but Hendrix hits different)_

**Chapter 10**

I take a breath finally, after my fist and the rock land again and again. I don’t see Greta anymore. It’s just blood, bone, and hate. I sit back on my heels, breathing heavy. 

“Ho-ly shit”, Henry says. 

I stand, Patrick takes my hand. He’s holding the newspapers in the other. 

“I should have told you”, I said, looking at them.

“You told me enough”, he says gently. “I have stories too.”

Henry starts in, “You two are really---”

“Can it”, Patrick says harshly, “If  _ any _ of you say  _ anything _ \--”

“We won’t”, Vic says suddenly. “We won’t, Pat.” 

His eyes are scared, Belch looks scared too. Henry just looks dumbfounded. 

“Fuck off then”, he says. 

Vic and Belch do not need to be told twice. Watching them run down the street, I wonder for a moment what the freshmen would think of their bullies now.

_ What would they think of me? Would Beverly still look up at me with sad eyes? She thought I was friendly. _

It almost makes me laugh. I feel a pang of...sadness, maybe? I could have been friends with her, if I had friends. 

“The body”, Patrick says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look back down at what is left of Greta. I don’t actually know if she is dead, but she probably will be soon if she’s not. 

“Pennywise”, I say quietly. 

I don’t look up from Greta when the clown’s laughter fills the air. 

“Cleo saw red! Now Greta’s dead!” Its hands clap with glee, as It rocks back and forth on the railing of the bridge. 

“What the fuck?” Henry says. 

I forgot he was there. Patrick may not have scared him, but the clown grins at him with pointed teeth, and he takes off after his minions.

“Why not Bowers?” I say suddenly, looking at the clown. 

“Plansss” is all It says, smiling. 

I laugh, it’s a weak laugh. I feel more tired than I ever have. 

“Well, I showed you”, I say, annoyed by how much of my fatigue is leaking into my voice now. 

“We both did”, Patrick says.

I look at him, raising my eyebrows in confusion. 

“Stories”, he says, “everyone has them.” 

The clown laughs again. “This will be so much fun. Cleo and Patrick sitting in a tree, C-R-A-Z-Y for me!” 

I groan, "enough with the Mr. Rogers bullshit, ok?"

It giggles and I watch It walk over to Greta on the ground. The sight of the clown walking over to Its next meal is the most human I have seen It act. There is something strangely funny about the sight of it walking so casually over to a dead body, It’s ridiculous outfit adding to the macabre humor. If I didn’t know better by now, I would think I was hallucinating the whole weird, bloody image. I look at Patrick, taking the newspapers from his hand. 

“Let’s go”, I say, flipping open his lighter and setting the bundle aflame. 

I drop the burning papers to the ground and watch for a moment as they fold in on themselves, the fire eating away at all my old secrets. 

“The clow--”

“It knows where to find us”, I say.

I take the clown’s silence as approval. I scoff at how much has changed in me.

“I gotta go get my backpack”, I say to Patrick, staring at the clown on Greta like a lion eating an antelope.

“You think it’s still there”, he asks, his face twisted in disgust as the clown eats.

“I don’t know”, I shrug, taking his hand, “but it’s better than being here.”

“Agreed”

**. . .**

“30 fires?” he says as we walk through the trees. I can see the sewer tunnel in the distance. 

“It wasn’t 30”, I smirk, “closer to...14...15...I don’t know exactly; I lost count after a dozen”, I pause, “it was probably in that bullshit paper, everything else was, but surprise, surprise Greta isn’t-- wasn’t --good at reading.”

“Cold”, he laughs, whistling.

I smile. “Yeah well, you said you like--”

“I do”, he laughs again.

I nod, but I don’t smile this time.

“Now that you know everything, it’s not as cute, right?”, I say, stopping.

“I’ve never thought you were cute. I mean, not like that. You  _ are _ cute. But the reason I like you is because you’re real, lethal apparently, not fucking cute, you know that.”

He’s stopped too, and his blue eyes are burning into me. My mind flashes back to the day we met.

_ Can’t believe how long ago that feels _

“I’ve killed people”, I say, “and I don’t care...I know that I should...but I just don’t.”

“So have I”

“Who?”

He doesn’t answer. His face looks like he’s debating in his head.

I shrug.  I try to keep walking, but he stops me. 

“Most recently...my brother.”

I squint at him. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No”

“I didn’t even know you had one....why’d you kill him?”

“I don’t know, do I need a reason? Why’d you kill Greta?”

“Ok, ok”, I say holding my hands up.

He sighs, “I don’t want to fight. We both have done some shit. We’re both violent and fucked up.”

“What else is new?” I say, smiling.

He laughs and kisses my forehead. 

We start walking again. When we reach the sewer tunnel opening, my backpack is still sitting there on the bank. I gingerly pick it up, but nothing jumps or crawls out from under it, so I sling it over my shoulder. 

I frown as it squishes against my back, “well, this is trashed. Shouldn’t have left it.”

“Yeah, you could have let the clown eat me and grabbed it instead”, he smirks.

“Ha, ha”, I say sarcastically.

He takes it from me and slings it over his shoulder. I grin at him. 

“You like me, Patrick Hockstetter.”

“Shut up”, he lets out an exasperated laugh, “and I love you.”

“I love you too, dork”, I say. 

_ I really do. It doesn't fit right in my head, but I do.  _

As his eyes drift away from mine and focus on the tunnel behind me, his sideways smile falls.

“What are we going to do about the clown?”

“I don’t think there is anything we  _ can  _ do”, I say shrugging, “whatever It  _ is _ , Its  _ not  _ a clown. I’m not even sure It belongs here. It’s a monster, Earth has always had those, right? But, I don’t know...Pennywise feels unearthly. Its old, and It seems powerful to us...but Its weak. I mean It stays here, preying on kids and hiding in sewers. It doesn’t make sense.”

His eyes don’t leave me as I ramble. "How do you know?”

I shake my head, “I don’t. Just a feeling I get. It’s like walking into a bookstore. You can smell the difference between the old ones and the new ones, even if they’ve been re-bound in shiny new covers. There is something mystical about them.” 

“It's definitely not going away. We're going to have to kill a few more people. That’s the only reason we’re still alive.”

“Probably”, I say, “doesn’t seem to be an issue with It eating all the evidence.”

“True”, he pauses, “but still...why don’t we just leave?”

“Leave?”

“Derry”, he says, “No one's gonna look for me…”

“Me neither”, I say, thinking this through. 

“So?”

“Do you have a car?”

“I can take my dad’s, he won't even notice it's gone for a couple days.”

I nod, “fine”

“Fine”, he grins at me. 

  
  
  



	11. Hotel California

_"Last thing I remember_   
_I was running for the door_   
_I had to find the passage back_   
_To the place I was before._

  
Relax _, said the night man,_  
We are programmed to receive.  
You can check out any time you like...

  
But you can never leave _"_

_-_ _Hotel California, Eagles_

**Chapter 11**

_ Don’t fall asleep. _

The words echo around my tired head, and I yawn in protest. I roll over on my bed and take out Patrick’s lighter. I watch the flame rise and fall while trying not to watch the alarm clock on my bed. I get up and stick the lighter back in my pocket. As I look around my quiet, dark room I realize I should have tried to run away ages ago. The pink duffle bag with my clothes, walkman, and little money that I have lays next to me on the bed. My mom bought it for me...or maybe my dad did...I don’t remember anymore. 

_ I can’t remember them at all. I don’t think I’ve seen them in weeks...but I don’t remember that either. _

I have no great love for my parents, but I hate the feeling of not being able to recall anything about them. I can remember Jamie’s stupid face but not theirs. 

_ Where is Patrick? _

I look out my window to the street below. It is empty and quiet, just like my room, and my eyes wander over to the storm drain.

_ It’s not just going to let us leave. Is It?  _

My rambling from before comes back to me. It is weak, in a way at least. Patrick and I agreed that if we get outside of Derry, chances are It won’t follow us. I am guessing that It  _ can’t  _ follow us if we manage to get out of this town. 

_ “Part of It lives in your head” _

Patrick had said what I did not want to admit, but I agreed, that the clown and I have a different kind of connection than others, a mental one. Well, Patrick didn’t like that, but I assured him it was different than the one he and I had. It doesn’t love me, but It wants me for some other reason. I smile to myself.

_ The boy is jealous of a child-eating creature that dresses like a clown. _

As if on cue, a beat up white sedan rolls up to the curb. I hope that he has the sense not to park on top of the sewer drain and not to honk at me. He doesn’t do either, and I turn back to my bed, grab my stuff, and head out. When I used to think about running away as a little kid, I had this fantasy that my parents would cry and beg me not to go. Now as I walk through the dark empty house, I am relieved I do not have to see them again, wherever they are. I know they wouldn't care, and I don’t blame them, since I don’t care about them either.

“Don’t go, Cleo.”

It is a quiet, watery voice. I stop by the front door. 

“Don’t look for me, Dad. We both know I’m doing you a favor.”

“You  _ can’t _ go, Cleo. It won’t let you.”

I want to turn around. I want to ask him how he knows, or see if he looks how Betty Ripsom looked down in the sewers. I want to see if the dripping sound and the flies buzzing around are real. I want to, but I don’t.

“Bye, Dad.”

I slam the door behind me and walk quickly over to the car. 

“You ok?” Patrick says, unlocking the door for me. 

“Yeah”, I say, sitting down, “drive.”

**. . .**

Patrick tells me to sleep, and normally I would fight him on it, but I feel so tired that I am asleep as soon as I curl up in the seat. I don’t dream. 

_ This has to be one though, doesn’t it.  _

I stir briefly and look out the car window. I see the “Welcome to Derry” sign on the side of the road. I blink as we pass it, and I suddenly don’t feel tired anymore. I look down in confusion at my shoes standing on the highway, looking back up I see the car continuing down the road. As I stare over at the sign again, it’s happy peaceful letters taunt me.

“Welcome to Derry”, I say to myself. 

I’m still confused when I hear the car screech to a halt. I watch it swing around and come barreling back toward me. At first I think he will hit me, but Patrick brakes hard skidding to a stop a few feet in front of where I stand. His face is just as confused as I feel when he gets out and runs over to me. 

“What the hell?”

“I don’t know”, I say. 

“How’d you--”

“I don’t know”, I repeat, “I don’t understand, Patrick.”

I hear the giggles before I see It. Patrick stands next to me and takes my hand. 

“I tried to help you understand”, says the clown, perched on top of the sign, “I tried to make you see who you are, Cleo. Derry is your home, you belong here. You can’t just leave.” 

“What are you talking about?” I say angrily, “You’re doing this!”

It laughs again and Patrick squeezes my hand. 

“No, no”, It says, “I play with you, you’re my favorite toy. You’re special, but I am not keeping you here.” 

I shake my head, and run at a dead sprint for the car, yanking Patrick with me. We run, and I see him reach the car, but I feel my hand slip from his and I am back at the sign. Patrick comes over to me, the fear in his face is back, but it isn’t zombies this time. I try again and again, the clown laughs at me from atop the Derry sign. 

“Why?” is all I say.

But I know why, somehow I always knew, deep down. I just couldn’t remember. 

“You never turned 17, Cleo, you buuurned away”, the clown says sternly. 

Its words pulse in my head as I remember. I remember everything. 


	12. Devil Got My Woman

_"I'd rather be the devil, to be that woman's man_  
_I'd rather be the devil, to be that woman's man_  
_Aw, nothing but the devil, changed my baby's mind_  
_Was nothing but the devil, changed my baby's mind"_

_\- Devil Got My Woman, Skip James_

**Chapter 12**

“You saw me do it.”

He takes it as a question. “Yes”, he nods, “you poured the gas, you lit the match, you did it, Cleo. The other fires, that was you too? All this time...we have to tell someone, we have to...”

I stare at him. He stops. 

“We have to, Cleo”, Jamie says, his sad eyes are pleading with mine, “you need help.”

I stand and walk over to the railing of the platform and look over. The tower seems higher than normal, the dark ground is almost invisible. He has walked over to me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. 

“You’re gonna need help if you tell anyone, Jamie.”

His hand falls. “What does that mean?”

I turn and face him. The stupid look on his face makes me want to hit him. “What do you think?”

“I love you”, he says, “Don’t you love me?”

“No”, I say flatly. 

“Then why? Why have you been with me--”

“You’re a convenience”, I say coldly, “one that I can’t fucking stand anymore.”

He makes a noise, like a yelp almost, “Well...I’m gonna tell someone, a doctor...or something, you need help”, he repeats, “and if you won’t get it, I’ll get it for you.”

He turns to walk away, and I shove him with both hands. He trips, but catches himself. He whips around and grabs me, pushing me up against the railing. I expect his eyes to be angry with me, but they aren’t, they’re just sad, always so sad. I struggle against his grip on both of my arms, but I can’t get free. 

“Please”, he says in a small voice, struggling against my thrashing. 

The railing is creaking loudly; the wood of the old tower is yelling at both of us. I kick him in the shin, which makes him falter long enough for me to try and make a run for it. 

“No”, he says, grabbing me around the waist again.

I throw my weight back against him, pressing him up against the railing now. The wood splinters and cracks. I do it again. I wiggle around in his grip until I am facing him. With my head empty and red, I glare at his sad eyes one more time and I shove. 

“Cleo!”

I don’t even see him fall, his face is there and then it’s not. I feel myself being pulled over with him, grabbing at the splintered railing. I feel the rush of the wind on my face and the cold, hard smack of the ground as I reach it. There’s pain, heavy and joyless. It feels like I lie there for an eternity, but it’s still night when I move. 

I don’t move like I ever have before. It takes me a moment to realize I am soaring. The tower, the tree line, everything is racing past me in the dark. I see nothing in the black sky, no stars, no moon, nothing. The sound of the air rushing over me is deafening, so loud that it almost seems quiet after a while. When I have resigned myself to this fate, soaring through blackness, I see them.  They are orange and brilliant in the darkness. Three round beacons streaking the sky in light. I don’t know what they are, but in this moment I don’t care. They’re something, something in all this nothing, and I use whatever is left of my will to send myself toward them. 

_ I’m dead. _

I’m not sad. I’m not scared. I just feel empty and angry and raw. The lights are blinding as I reach them. As they fade I catch a glimpse of dark ground, trees, a tower, and for a moment I think I am back where I started. I see a sign then, a cheery sign that doesn’t fit in the gloomy landscape. I read it as I hit the ground again.  _ “Welcome to Derry” _

“Welcome to Derry”, I say quietly as I snap back to the present. 

“What?” Patrick says.

“I’m dead”, I say, and the clowns laughs, “I’ve _been_ dead...this whole time, Patrick. I’m...I don’t know…but that doesn’t make sense”, I say turning back to the clown, “I moved here with my parents, I went to school...I dream, I bleed!”

“Do you really remember your parents? Do you really remember moving here?” It asks, the tone of It’s voice is calm and seemingly patient with me. “Do you really remember where you got anything from?”

I shake my head, fully realizing that no is the answer to all of those questions. 

“She knows where she got the lighter from”, Patrick says, angry confusion breaking his deep voice, “she feels...I  _ feel _ her. I felt her heartbeat”

“Yes”, the clown agrees. 

I feel drained, done with the clown and my reality. I turn back to Patrick, meeting his eyes. His intensity is still there, but it’s dim and cloudy with his confusion. 

“Go”, I croak, my voice hoarse and sore, “get out of this town, Patrick.” 

“No”, Patrick says. “I’m not gonna leave you here with It.”

“I’m dead!” I yell at him, but not really just at him. 

“I don’t care.”

“You’re afraid of zombies”, I try, “that’s all I am. That’s all I’ll ever be now.”

He shakes his head, his shaggy black hair dancing around his slim face. 

“You are not a corpse”, the clown laughs. It has climbed down from the sign and skittered closer to us. “You’re a memory, child.” 

"A ghost?"

It nods, grinning at me. 

“But I feel--”

“You feel here because you _ are _ here”, It says, “just like I am, just like we all are.  _ Humans _ have such a teeny tiny understanding for the dimensions of the multiverse. They look at them through a cartoon lens”, the clown sticks It’s tongue out, “flat and silly, with arbitrary rules for everything.” It grins again with sharp teeth, “It is so much more than that.” 

The shift in Its speech weighs on me. It isn’t teasing me anymore. While It still looks like Pennywise the Clown, there is something fuzzier about Its edges now. It seems to be growing out of Its own skin, an orange light radiating from the frayed outline. I don’t speak then and neither does Patrick. We listen. 

“Ghosts are solid memories, constant and functioning, just like people but more honest”, It continues, “and you child, are a ghost like none I have seen in many, many years. Hungry like me, but not of me, not one of my faces. You are a ghost so red and so angry that you burned through the skies and came here willingly to my deadlights, to me.” 

“Deadlights”, I repeat.

“Yes”, It nods, “You’ve seen them, and they’ve seen you.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell her?” Patrick cuts in angrily, “All the Dr. Seuss bullshit, why not just tell us from the beginning?”

“We wouldn’t have believed It”, I say, “nothing was real except us”, I look at him and he looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn't. 

“What now?” I say, asking the clown that I had hated so much. I suddenly feel akin to It, never in the same way I feel about Patrick, but something much bigger and older, a connection to the sprawling universe...or multiverse, I guess. 

“You are not my only toy”, It says, “but I will need both of you again before I sleep.”

The orange light grows then, until both me and Patrick shield our eyes. When the light fades, It is gone and we are alone on the dark highway. 

“You should go”, I say again, “get out while you can.”

He takes me in his arms possessively, rubbing his thumb on the scab he left on my lip. “You want me to?”

“Yes”, I say, “I want you to live”, I look up at him, “please, Patrick, go.” 

His hand is still resting on my chin, and he kisses me.

_ How can I be dead? How could a ghost feel all this?  _

“Fine”, he says, once we break.

I smile at him. “Fine”

“I’ll catch you later”, he says. I think he might cry, but he doesn’t. It’s just not in his nature. 

“Don’t bet on it”, I say. 

It takes him a long time to get back in the car, but once he does I watch it swing around again, and head off down the road. I watch until it disappears into the brightening sky. I look down at my duffle bag sitting at my feet. I gave him the money, because what the hell do I need it for?

“I’m in fucking Purgatory”, I mutter.

I chuck a rock at the Derry sign, and it bounces off with a large clanging sound. Then I sling my duffle over my shoulder and turn on my walkman. I wonder if it’s real. I can hear the music, but is anything real? Then I wonder what I should do now, I mean right now, while the clown is dealing with other things. I picture myself sitting in my bed, going to the library, starting fires in the woods, and splashing through The Barrens...endlessly, forever. 

_ Just your friendly neighborhood hobo ghost _

I crack a smile and sigh. There is something like relief filling me right now. I know why I am different, I know all that is wrong with me. There is a freedom in that. I frown.

“But I’m not free”, I say to myself as I walk back into town, “I’m stuck here as much as the clown is.” 

I walk back to my house and while I am unsurprised by what I find, I still find myself standing outside looking up at it, taking it all in. The blue paint is dusty and peeling, the front stoop sags with broken steps and wobbly railings. I look at the fogged, busted windows and the shingles falling off the roof. When I finally go inside, I find nothing but the smell of rotting wood and dust dancing in the streams of light from the windows. There’s nothing, no furniture, no pictures, none of the things I remember being there. Now that I think about it, they always seemed fake. 

“Like a dollhouse”, I say to the dust, “a house for a toy.” 

I’m angry at the clown again. It might seem kind to give me a life here, a semblance of normal existence, but It’s taken it away now, and I find myself thinking it would have been better to see my presence in Derry for what it is from the beginning. Patrick’s angry words to the clown ring in my ears, and I miss him. I drop my duffle on the floor and head up the creaking stairs. They’ve always creaked, and I welcome the sound for a moment because it is at least familiar. 

Sitting on the floor I realize I miss my bed. My parents here, whatever they were, and everything else in the house was always flimsy, but my bed was a comfort. I lay on the floor and flip the cassette over, turning the volume up. 

“I want to be afraid now”, I say to the ceiling. 

I will myself to be, but I can’t make myself fear this endless empty existence. Instead, I make myself sad. I don’t know if it’s real, but I cry. A small thread of tears runs down the side of my face. I can hear Patrick teasing me about it, and I laugh, a short, sad laugh that breaks my coldness. I lay on my floor and weep. It’s strange and new, and I love it and hate it at the same time. 

_ I suppose this is justice. Jamie is laughing somewhere. Wonder what bumfuck town he got stuck in? Stuck, I’m stuck here. _

I sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears off my face. “Fuck that”, I say. 

_ There has to be a way, something the clown isn’t telling me.  _

“First things first”, I say, standing.

I grab armful after armful of wood, I don’t know how long it takes me but I would guess a couple hours. I use whatever I can find; the fence that lines the neighbor’s house, tree branches, a lawn chair…I smash them up until my hands and arms are scratched and sore. I see the beads of blood on the surface of the cuts, I run my tongue over my scabbed lip, and I feel better knowing that at least these things are not part of the clown’s illusion. 

“There”, I say, looking at the pile in the middle of what was once my living room. 

I flip open my lighter and grab the duffle. “I’m not a toy. I’m  _ not _ gonna be fucked with anymore.” 

I light the wood all around the base, it goes up quicker than any wood I’ve ever seen. Flipping the lighter closed, I leave, backing out onto the lawn. Crossed-legged I sit and watch my old house burn, the windows exploding and the stoop falling in on itself. 

“Not the best; some gasoline would have helped.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, etc. :)


End file.
